


Veiled

by learninghowtosmut



Series: Veiled [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-04 00:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learninghowtosmut/pseuds/learninghowtosmut
Summary: Once upon a time, a part of history went differently. Instead of being raised by Spain, Romano was taken as a new part of the Ottoman Empire. Now, decades later, Spain meets him again and instantly falls in love with the beautiful young man he has become.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://nonomoriu.tumblr.com/post/167623605120 <\--- The first part of this, before my enablers began Encouraging me, was inspired by this gorgeous artwork.

“You want him, don’t you?”

That bastard Turkey glances at him from the corners of his eyes. Is he really that obvious? Ay, but it’s hard to keep it hidden. The last time he saw Romano, he was just a child. Small and helpless and _really fucking pissed off_ that he was being handed over again. Passed around like a trinket. Now he’s grown and… and _beautiful_. Draped in those gauzy fabrics that conceal more than they don’t and hint at what could be found if he was bold enough to push them aside… Gold discs crown his head, glitter on his veiled face, and drape enticingly over his slim hips.

Spain swallows, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“It wasn’t easy, but he learnt. Eventually.” Turkey’s voice holds promises, rich and dangerous. Spain would be lying if he said he didn’t want to follow up on them. “Nobody can hold out against me for long.”

“That’s not what my armies say.” He’s mildly surprised he can speak, but the instinct to defend himself is stronger than he realised. “How many times have I beaten you back, now?”

His host’s lips tighten for a second before breaking into a smirk. “I still have something you want. And I have no intention of losing him just yet. Ah, it’s a shame… I was going to offer you…” he pauses, mulls the words over to find the perfect one. “ _Use_ of any one of them for your stay, but if you feel too _superior_ to me to take a friendly offer…”

Spain hates how easy it is to manipulate him like this, but he has no intention of turning it down. His eyes never leave Romano’s form, firelight dancing over his skin in paths that he himself very much wants to copy. He’s always been weak for beautiful things.

“Romano. For the week.”

They make the deal. Later that night, when the firewood stacks are low and sweetened wine is running thickly through his head, he makes his way to the room that is his for the week. It is already occupied.

Romano turns, lifting the long veil away when it gets in the way. A flicker of a frown – a weak copy of the scowl that used to be so familiar – twists his face. The soft jingling of metal on metal is the only sound.

“You’ve grown,” Spain breathes. “You’re so beautiful…”


	2. Chapter 2

Golden eyes narrow and his chest swells with another faint jingle of metal on metal; no movement he makes is allowed to go unmarked by the discs sewn into his clothes. He seems to be physically biting back sharp words, if the movement of the fabric over his face is any indication.  Some of the warmth bubbling in Spain’s body leaks out and he feels himself falter. Still, the wine whispers to him, he’s been wanting him all day, ever since he first saw this intoxicating young man. What’s wrong with taking what he wants? He’s always done it before. Romano could be just another treasure that he’s taken for his own, even if it is only for the week. His coffers are full of gold and jewels from far-flung places that he took without hesitation. He can do it again, he knows it.

“Growing is what people do. I wasn’t going to stay a child forever.” There is a sharp rebuke to his voice, even though he carefully controls it to stay civil. He learnt a long time ago that the brief satisfaction isn’t worth it.

“I never said you would.” He can’t help himself; he steps closer and reaches for him. Yes, he would enjoy it, having him as his own for a week, allowing himself to imagine what could have been if he’d been able to keep him, to watch the small brat who was terrible with his chores grow up into this stunning beauty. What had Turkey been saying about him around Roma to have him so cold, though? He’d hoped for a warmer welcome, to put it mildly. “I’m just sad I didn’t get to watch.”

Romano flinches, such a tiny movement that Spain misses it entirely, and steps away from him. Oh, he knows what’s expected, he knows what Turkey will have promised of him, but he hopes that perhaps, if he plays dumb, this one time he can put what _he_ wants first. Judging by the flush to the _bastard_ ’s face, he’s had enough to drink to make him suggestible. He can use that.

Spain steps closer to him again, angling himself this time so that Romano is between him and the bed. Romano only realises this when he steps back and feels the frame against the backs of his knees. His eyes widen minutely and he freezes in place. A rough hand, calloused from decades of wielding axes, sailing across oceans, and carefully tending to his special tomato plants, brushes the side of his face to unhook the veil from his ear. Before he can stop him, it’s hanging off and his face is bare. He can’t hide the rush of emotion that takes over him.

His face is bare. He is completely unguarded.

He _hated_ that veil at first, he hated everything it meant, everything it stood for. But now, when it’s taken away without warning, he finds he needs it. He needs to shield himself from those intrusive eyes that are trying to own every part of him again.

Romano turns his face away and hopes that the shadows will hide the pure, naked emotion. His fingers are clutching at the light fabric at his sides and pulling it close around him.

“...Lo siento,” Spain murmurs, and steps away. “I shouldn’t have pushed. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

And Romano can breathe again.

The next morning, Spain is alone. He glances to the bed and sees that it’s been slept in. Looks like Roma never learnt to make his bed after all. Still… part of him had been hoping that he would stay. Looks like he can’t have everything he wants. He gets up and stretches, pulling a face when his muscles complain about a night on the floor. He shuffles over to the bed and drops to sit on it, just as a knock sounds on the door and another day of diplomacy begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated having Spain sleep with him here, but it didn't feel right to me. At this point in time, he's definitely a selfish, arrogant prick, but he wouldn't force someone into sleeping with him, even if he had the power to. And it would toe the line of consent far too finely for me to be comfortable with.


	3. Chapter 3

Spain is never alone with Romano again after that. Oh, he sees him around the edges of a room, flitting in and out like a ghost, but he never stays long enough for him to talk. He wants to ask Turkey what he’s so upset about, but his pride would never allow him to let him have this information to hold over him. He’s going to have to catch Romano alone and make him talk, make him  _ listen _ to what he has to say. Romano, however, remains stubbornly elusive. Every time he tries to find him, he is nowhere to be found. None of the other servants or subject nations will tell him where he is, and he can’t spend long looking anyway, not unless he wants his king to scold him for being rude to their host.   
  
It’s an accident, when he stumbles over him. He hears a voice out of the window, speaking in Italian. He glances out and sees him sitting on the ground and playing with a kitten. His voice is soft and lilting with the cadence of his own tongue, his voice softened as all voices are when babytalking an animal. He’s dressed in rougher clothing than before, things similar to the human servants’ clothes. His veils are set off to the side, out of the way so they won’t be damaged. He is too far away for Spain to see his face clearly, but he seems so much more open and relaxed than he had been that night. He wants to see that up close, he wants to make him smile and laugh and open up to him. He wants to make that smile  _ his _ .   
  
He still has three days. Three days to find something that will make him laugh and drop whatever walls have been put up against other people, or at least to find a crack in them. He used to be able to make him laugh all the time as a child; how hard could it be now? At the midday meal, he sees Romano out of the corner of his eye, awkwardly holding a container of sweetened fruit juice. He seems uncertain of how to behave, as if this isn’t his usual role. This would be the perfect moment to make him relax and laugh a bit, so a little of his dignity is a small price to pay. He makes a gesture as he speaks and deliberately knocks his cup over into his lap, jumping up with an exaggerated cry of dismay and glancing out of the corner of his eye to see his reaction. Even though all he can see is his eyes, he knows that that isn’t the look of someone trying not to laugh. His heart sinks and he becomes uncomfortably aware of the wetness spreading out over his clothes.   
  
He tries again later on. It is early evening and Romano is sat in a corner next to a musician. Spain hopes that he’ll get to see him dancing again, even if him being here is a bit of a slap in the face to his king; Turkey is flaunting the territory he won from them. Spain knows he should be angry about it, but all he can think about is bringing a smile to his face. Well, to his eyes at least. He tries to picture what it would look like, those golden eyes warming and softening, crinkling at the edges with hidden laughter, the knowledge that behind the draped fabric, there would be a smile on his lips, maybe even a flash of tooth peeking out with his amusement. It would be a priceless moment, worth anything it took.   
  
He makes an excuse to get up and get something from across the room, deliberately catches his toe in the rug, and lets himself trip and fall. As he pulls himself up, he makes a show of rubbing all the places that had hit the ground and slyly flicks his eyes over to check for a softening in what he can see of Romano’s face. No luck.   
  
Nothing he tries works, not even the things that had always guaranteed a little Roma to be falling over himself laughing. He sacrifices his dignity and pride time and time again, to the point where his king is starting to get a little bit worried about him. On the last day, he gives up. He can’t make him laugh. He can’t even make him smile. He has failed, and he doesn’t know if he will have a chance to see him again. He wishes things had gone differently, that he’d never had to give little Roma up.   
  
There is not much time left until he leaves and his patience has worn thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to sound like 00's era ff.net, but I'm only updating while I've got the motivation to do so. If it feels like nobody cares, there will be no motivation; there's no point in putting something out there if nobody appreciates it, and I won't exhaust myself by endlessly hoping for something I'm not going to get.


	4. Chapter 4

He isn’t easy to find, but Spain manages. He corners him, traps him in a room and locks the door behind them. Romano stubbornly faces away from him; the last few days he has been carefully avoiding him. If he can pretend that Spain doesn’t exist, he will. He only has to hold out for an hour so so at the most; the Spanish are ready to leave. Staying any longer than this could prove politically dangerous at home or internationally.

“Roma, tell me what’s wrong,” he orders him. “You’ve been acting so strangely! What happened?”

His only reply is silence. There are no discs in these clothes to clink against one another. Apart from the veils, he wouldn’t stand out as foreign in any of the places they used to go together; the fabric is plain, the cut is European. Romano knows that this is just another part of the sick entertainment Turkey gets from having him around, so he is grateful, in a way, for the veils now. They’re his shield against a cruel world.

Spain decides he has been patient enough. He strides forwards, grabs his shoulder, and pulls him around to face him. “Why are you acting like this? I thought you’d be happy to see your old boss!”

“Is that what this was about?” Romano’s voice is filled with cold, controlled fury. “You’ve been trying to shove in my face how I belonged to you as well?”

“What? No!” 

“Reminding me of when I was young and didn’t know any better? How you made me believe you  _ cared  _ about me? That I could  _ trust _ you?”

“Roma, I never-”

“ _ Don’t call me that _ ,” he growls and shakes himself free of his hand, striding away to put space between them. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

“ _ Fine _ . Romano, I don’t understand! What did I do to make you angry at me like this? Was it the first night? But I didn’t do anything to you! I’ve not even touched you since then!”

“Is that it? Do you want a fucking  _ prize _ for - for that first night? A reward for being a decent fucking person and not pushing for more than you were getting? A prize for not doing something nobody would’ve punished you for? You want me to get down on my knees and  _ thank _ you for not forcing me into something I didn’t want?!”

He desperately  _ needs _ to scream and shout and throw things in a way he hasn’t done in decades, ever since those first few years when Turkey first laid down the law. But he can’t make himself speak in anything louder than an enraged hiss. He hasn’t been allowed to be himself ever since Spain threw him away because it was easier to just give him over than to actually give a shit and fight to keep him.

“You have no idea what it was like!” he tells him, the ice in his voice biting hard. He paces closer and leans in, spitting the words like daggers from his mouth. “You have no idea what he had done to me, what I’ve had to do! You never once cared about me anyway! All that mattered to you was the status of having me as your damn servant! And then when you were done with me, when you’d had enough, you threw me aside to  _ him _ .” He steps away, shaking his head.

“I didn’t want to!” Spain insists “I never wan-”

Romano holds his hand up, physically interrupting him. “I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses. You did this to me, and I can’t forgive that.” The icy control is back.

Inside, Romano is close to breaking. He reins himself in, pulls himself back behind his shields. He can’t let anyone see the cracks, he can’t show any sign of weakness.

“Please, I’ll do anything to make it up to you!” Spain knows how desperate he sounds, pleading for forgiveness he already knows he may never get.

“Then leave. Leave and never come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me how much you hate me for this: all authors thrive off of their readers' pain.  
> This is the end of this fic, but not the end of the story. Oh no, I have plenty in mind for them yet. The next part of this series should be up tomorrow or the day after, so do not despair! This is not the end!


End file.
